


Shagging Through London A-Z

by Meredydd



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-10-04
Updated: 2012-10-04
Packaged: 2017-11-15 15:57:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/528988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meredydd/pseuds/Meredydd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A nudge from AtlinMerrick based on a comment I made on one of her fics...  The boys sure seem to enjoy shagging in public.    A purely cracky, fluffy look at Sherlock, John and their nearly uncontrollable lust for one another.  Mostly in public or almost-public places.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shagging Through London A-Z

**Author's Note:**

> This is going to be an ongoing fic, added to as locations are suggested and I have the time! Just pure fluff and smut and assuming Sherlock and John are in an established relationship.

Shag Your Way Through London, A-Z (1/?)  
Disclaimers: A Cracky bit of fic inspired by AtlinMerrick’s interpretation of Sherlock and John at times, and their love of...well, lovin’. This fic contains public sex of many varieties, all M/M, not so public sex of similar varieties, pure crack and fluff. And pretty much straight up PWP.

 

**The London Eye**

John was not entirely sure how they managed a capsule to themselves--likely something to do with the fact they reeked of sweat and blood and whatever the _fuck_ that was on the bottom of his shoe. Sherlock’s maniacal grin also had something to do with things, he was sure. As it was, they were on the last spin of the day, the capsule rocking ever so gently with the motion of the mechanisms as they were lifted above the city. John sank down to press his forehead to his knees and just _breathe_ as Sherlock paced, his trademark coat, for once, absent due to the sweltering summer outside the air-conditioned capsule, but John could see it flapping behind him anyway, like ghostly wings for some gangling crow-spirit. “Sit down,” John finally groaned. “We’ve got half an hour before we hit bottom again and there’s no way in fucking hell I’m letting or helping you climb out and over to the next capsule to grab Collins.”

“Please. By the time we reach bottom once more, Lestrade will be there with his band of merry idiots. I called them over an hour ago so that should be plenty of time to cram into pandas and get lost at least once!”  
“Really, Sherlock,” John sighed, finally looking up from his soiled trouser-knees and leaning back against the capsule’s seating. “That’s harsh, even for you.”

“Was it? Hm.” He stopped his pacing and fixed John with a steady gaze. “You were...quite good. WIth the tackling and all. Very...athletic. Agile, even. Nimble.”

John felt his ears redden under Sherlock’s compliment. “Yeah, well... Thanks, Roget. I guess playing rugby finally paid off in the long run.”

“Roget? Who’s that?” 

John raised a brow. Sherlock sounded... jealous. He snorted at the idea of his flatmate, best friend and lover being jealous of a long-dead thesaurus compiler and just smiled. “I’ll just keep that to myself.”

Sherlock scowled. “Pop culture?”

“General knowledge.”

“Hmph.” 

Silence stretched between them as they went ever higher, the twinkling lights of London below breaking up the dim light of the capsule. Finally, John sighed. “Bloody Hell, this has to be the most boring chase we’ve ever been on. Bar the tackling earlier. A nice, slow, twirl above London like bleeding tourists...”

“Heart rate back to normal, then? No danger, no fun?” John barely had time to react before Sherlock was on his knees, pushing John’s thighs wide, lips curling in amusement. “I can take care of that.”

“Sherlock! Are you mad? Wait, look who I’m asking! There’s security cameras and--” John’s protests died on a choked gasp, Sherlock’s nimble fingers tugging away zips and briefs until a rather promising, half-hard cock was exposed. “Oh....” John let his head fall back. This, he decided, was one of those times when it was okay to be a bit mad, when fighting it would just really be doing himself a disservice and why would he want to do that and... “Oh, oh...” 

Sherlock barely managed to stop himself from grinning as he lapped at John’s hardening cock. It wasn’t that he had a _thing_ for sex in semi-public spaces (there was that one...dozen...times at uni and, to be fair, it’s only public if you do it where people can see you and security guards who are too good at their jobs have no business lurking about behind field houses on weekends when no matches are on, thank you very much)... He just had a strong desire to see John come, to hear him breathless and rough and _breaking_ and now...the only two passengers in a capsule on the London Eye’s last trip of the day...now seemed like the perfect time to hear just those things. And to see John’s flushed face, his fingers tightening and... Sherlock closed his eyes and took a deep, shaking breath, fisting John’s trousers and forcing himself to be calm, to not rush this any more than he had to.

“Sherlock.” John sounded ruffled but not breathless. 

“Shhh. We have time. Consider it...a rejuvenation of your earlier energetic state.”

John didn’t manage a protest--frankly, he didn’t want to--as Sherlock’s lips closed around the barely-exposed tip of his glans. He wanted to argue against it--the _smell_ alone, for fuck’s sake, should be enough to wilt any erection but the evidence of their chase and the imminent capture of Hardin Collins, jewel thief and general arsehole, seemed to be more aphrodisiac than anything John could have offered back at the flat. As Sherlock’s tongue pushed gently at John’s foreskin, all thoughts of showers and dinner and nice, clean, dirty sex faded and John’s attention narrowed to one single point--namely, where Sherlock’s mouth was wrapped around his cock. He didn’t know much about Sherlock’s past exploits and really,, was almost afraid to ask (John knew he had a jealous streak a mile wide and didn’t want to tempt himself, not with ready access to a morgue and all...) but _Lord,_ the way that man sucked his cock made him seriously consider sending a thank you note to all past lovers he could find and sign it with tears of gratitude. John’s mind went fuzzy and warm and _yes, yes, yes_ as Sherlock took more of his now-fully-hard member into his mouth and pressed oh-so-gently with his teeth, a hint of danger and a tease, a reminder that he was not some meek thing to be trifled with. John let out a breathy, gasping chuckle and hesitated--he wanted to sink his fingers into Sherlock’s tangled, messy hair but his hands had been in mud, had been in worse... Sherlock grunted around John’s cock and took hold of his wrist, guiding fingers to hair and sighing contentedly as John gave in and tugged the riotous strands firmly. “Oh, God, if I have energy left when we get back,” John promised, “I’m rogering you over the back of the sofa.” Sherlock made a sound that John hoped was agreement and slipped just a bit more of the hard, needy flesh into his mouth. John felt the head of his cock bump Sherlock’s throat and groaned. “You’ll be the death of me, I swear...”

Sherlock squeezed John’s thigh. _No, I won’t... I refuse to let you die. You’re not allowed..._ and slid his hand lower, to the barely-exposed crease where thigh met hip. He traced his nails there, over the spot he had discovered was alternately ticklish and teasing, making John gasp and giggle and try to push his legs further apart, failing as his trousers caught and held. The salt-musk-bitter- _John_ taste on his tongue grew stronger and Sherlock felt positively drunk with it, tipsy with the knowledge he was making John feel like this, John was _his_ and he was John’s... Seeing John tackle Collins earlier, seeing his lover throw himself into danger, into harm’s way, did something to Sherlock that no drug ever managed. It made him _want_ and _need_ and _feel_....and, the tiny part of his mind not rolling over and howling like a wolf at the noises John was making, how John was writhing in the seat and pulling his hair so damned well, that tiny part of his brain noted that seeing John do those things apparently made Sherlock want to get on his knees and blow the fellow until they were both sticky, sweaty and damn near insensible with lust. Sherlock could taste the spurt of pre-come on his tongue and he knew John was not long for their activity. He took a deep breath through his nose and, exhaling, sank his mouth down to take the rest of John’s cock.

John was certain that the noise he made probably upset dogs for miles around, but he didn’t care. He tried to pull Sherlock away weakly but didn’t manage to budge his erstwhile lover before orgasm overtook him, Sherlock’s throat working around his cock making John’s eyes roll back in his head. After what seemed like ages, Sherlock slowly pulled off and gave John’s cock a few final, soft licks, tucked everything away and rocked back on his heels. “Your turn,” John began, but Sherlock waved him off. 

“We’ve less than three minutes until we’re low enough to jump out. Best catch our breath.” He glanced down at his own obvious, painfully hard erection, clearly visible in his trousers, and smiled wryly. “Less than three minutes for me to think of something awful.”

John snorted and stood, legs a bit shaky but feeling, overwhelmingly, so damned good that he didn’t care. “Just don’t think about me getting you over the sofa later... You’ll never get that sorted in time.”

 

A/N Any suggestions for other landmarks for the boys to christen?


End file.
